


Vices & Virtues

by gakarian



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Blood and Gore, Broody elf BF develops his ability to acknowledge his emotions for once, Emetophobia, Fluff and Smut, Implied Past Rape, M/M, Mentions of past abuse, Sarcastic Hawke, Slavery, Trauma, rogue hawke - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-29
Updated: 2016-10-10
Packaged: 2018-08-18 12:04:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 18,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8161505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gakarian/pseuds/gakarian
Summary: Modern AU!FenHawke.  Fenris has escaped his slave master, Danarius, in the Tevinter Imperium, and seeks refuge in Kirkwall. His consistent paranoia makes it difficult to make lasting relationships in his new home.  He finds compassion and strength in the last place he thought he’d find it in this strange, unfriendly new city. Multiple chapters, each one based on a different song. Smut in later chapters.





	1. Northern Downpour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris is an escaped Tevinter slave, finding refuge in Kirkwall. Battling his inner demons while trying to survive as a free elf in a human, Free Marches city, he discovers solace in the last place he thought he'd find it. Based off the song Northern Downpour by Panic! at the Disco.

For diamonds do appear to be

Just like broken glass to me

 

Fenris held his head up by one weakened, shaking hand propped under his chin, staring at the blurred, seemingly flying trees on a background of sunset pinks and oranges as the train sped quickly past them.  His eyes glided back and forth between the two edges of the window, following the interruptions to the horizon; vast mountains, endless ironbark trees, and the frequent patch of mud littering the fields of grass.

So this was Ferelden.

Beside him, he had only a worn backpack filled with as many essentials as he could grab in such a short time: money, toiletries, and sentimental shit he just couldn’t convince himself to leave behind.  He glanced around him cautiously before unzipping the bag, grabbing the last granola bar he had.  He looked it over for a moment, his thumb tracing the lining of the wrapper; instead of unwrapping it, he sighed, placing it back within, despite his stomach growling in protest.

He grabbed the wallet he’d snatched from Danarius’ room, looking around quickly again before opening it, counting the gold within; hopefully Kirkwallers still used gold. He had five gold and forty-seven silvers left.  Hopefully this last train ride to Kirkwall wouldn’t bankrupt him, either.

He licked his lips, putting the wallet back inside the backpack and zipping it up tightly, guardedly looking around for the third time to make sure no one had followed him. Everyone on the train was either on their phone or staring outside the window.  They were all dressed like typical Fereldens, too; boring beiges of different tones on top of one another, often in many layers because of the cold. 

It seemed like every Ferelden wore boots.  Maybe it was because of the mud.

He focused back onto the obscured distance beyond the window.  It was dark already, but he was only halfway through his journey.  Maker knew he still wouldn’t be safe by the time he made it to his destination, but… Well, there was still one little inkling of hope inside him that this would be the last place he could hide.  He certainly was tired of running.

Maybe he could kill Danarius… He half-chuckled to himself.  As if that would ever happen.

 

And then she said she can't believe

Genius only comes along

In storms of fabled foreign tongues

 

It took several months, but Fenris found himself comfortable enough to explore the city a bit more, rather than staying hidden in his apartment all day long.  He brought a Walmart sack and a pouch of gold he’d salvaged from odd jobs around his apartment complex (dog-walking, basic repairs, even some cleaning) and walked down to the local farmers’ market.

There were the normal market stands; some dwarves were selling runes, some humans silks of many kinds.  He noticed with disdain that there was only one stall open for an elf, obviously Dalish, selling hunting materials.  The rest of the market was dominated by human farmers and profiteers, selling everything from fruits and vegetables to jewelry and switchblades.

He splurged a little on himself and bought a small switchblade from the weapons stall; it seemed to be genuine Ferelden craftsmanship, engraved with mabari heads with snarling teeth along the base of the knife. He smiled as he placed it in his shirt pocket, deciding to keep it close in case _someone_ decided to pay him a visit, though it had been over half a year since he escaped.

After half an hour, he started to feel claustrophobic in the crowds surrounding the market, so he quickly chose to head back to his apartment… or maybe he would head to the park for a bit, clear his head.  He wasn’t sure.

As he cleared the crowd, gaining a sudden paranoid feeling, he ducked into an alleyway.  It was a quicker route to the park, anyway.  But as soon as he made it to the other side of the building, his pockets suddenly felt lighter than they were before. There was a faint smell of elfroot and metal wafting through the air.

He reached down, realizing his gold pouch had been stolen.

  _Fuck._   He turned, quickly glancing around, seeing a tall, dark-haired fellow shoving a coin purse into his back pocket.  He hadn’t cleared the alley yet.

Thinking on his feet, he grabbed his switchblade, clicking it open and putting it to the neck of the man who’d stolen from him.  The man froze, not making a single move.

Then he started laughing.

“Give me back my gold, urchin,” Fenris snarled, and the man only laughed harder, reaching in his back pocket, holding it out to him.  He hurriedly grabbed the coin purse, stuffing it in his back pocket, keeping the knife at the man’s neck.  His laugh faded into a tired chuckle.  “What are you laughing about?”

The man slowly turned around, his hands held up in surrender. A dark-haired, bearded, thick-jawed man, he was taller than Fenris by about half a foot, but he was used to confronting humans.  “You’re the first person to catch me in about… five years.”

Fenris scowled, pulling his switchblade back, retracting the blade and shoving it back in his shirt pocket.  “What, you do this for a living? I ought to kill you where you stand.”

The man laughed again, crossing his arms.  “I don’t doubt you could, but you have better things to do with your time.”

“What do you mean?”

The man pointed behind him, and he was foolish enough to glance behind him.  Seeing nothing, he looked back to where the man was, only to find he was suddenly gone.

He steamed and stewed the entire way back to his flat.

 

The ink is running toward the page

It's chasin' off the days

 

“ _I never was much of a writer_ ,” Fenris wrote, sitting on the edge of a dock, letting his long, spindly legs make small dips in the water as he scribbled in his notebook. “ _I did not want to give into Danarius’ silly little gifts.  He gave this journal to me… eight, nine years ago? Maker knew I needed an outlet, being a vengeful teenager forced into a disgusting situation like I was, but the wolfish grin on his face told me I would be punished for using the damn thing properly._ ”

He bit on the end of the pencil, bending the metal surrounding the eraser.  “ _I still see that grin in my nightmares.  It’s not enough to be away from him, I’ve found.  I’ve always had violent thoughts towards the man, but they’ve only increased since I escaped.  I want to go back and carve a real smile into his cheeks, something he won’t ever be able to control ever again._ ”

He found himself gripping his pencil tightly, almost snapping it in half.  He took a deep breath, letting the pencil flip between his fingers before continuing to write.  “ _I do not feel safe here.  I feel as though he is watching my every step, waiting for me to make the wrong move before he scoops me up and clasps me in irons and drags me back to Tevinter._ ” 

He stared ahead into the endless, choppy black water below him, tapping his eraser on the pages. 

“ _As long as I stay here, I am safe.  I have to be.  It has to be enough._ ”

 

Tripping eyes, and flooded lungs

Northern downpour sends its love

 

It was just his luck to be trapped in the damned Walmart across the street from his apartment.  They weren’t opening the doors; the storm was too heavy and visibility was practically nonexistent.  Not like he was driving home; he was fifty feet away from his home, but they were convinced he would get swept away in the storm the second he stepped outside.  He was getting disgruntled looks from every human in the store.  He was sure he’d land a punch right in this one redhead’s nose, when someone suddenly ran into him, quite literally.

The smell was stronger this time; elfroot, with a metallic twinge.

“Oh, sorry, serah.”

Instinctively, he checked his pockets. Gone, again.

“Give me back my coin,” he growled, and the man grinned, handing the coin purse back.

“Just checking to see if you’re still as alert.”

“Who do you think you are?  I’m not your friend, thief.” Fenris shoved the bag back in his back pocket, keeping his eyes on the man’s hands.  They were huge; how was he able to pickpocket so easily with such huge hands?

“I prefer the term _rogue_. It sounds more professional, and I _am_ a professional.”  The man took a bobby pin from his hair—why was he wearing a bobby pin?—and flicked it between his fingers.  “And who I am depends on what you want from me, stranger.”

“Professionals tend to not get caught.”  Fenris watched him, almost hypnotized for a moment by how he effortlessly flipped the bobby pin between each finger.  “I—I want nothing from you except an explanation.  Why do you keep following me?”

“Honestly?”  The man slid the bobby pin into his pocket, crossing his arms.  “Didn’t I tell you? You’re the first person to catch me in, what, four years? Five years? I’m interested. What training do you have to be that aware of your surroundings?”

 _B_ _eing a slave.  That tends to do it._   “It is none of your concern.”

“Then will you indulge me with a name?”

Fenris took a moment to check his grocery sack idly. “Fenris.”

“Hawke.” The man held his hand out to shake. “Pleased to meet you, Fenris.”

Fenris hesitated; why would he shake the hand of a man who tried to rob him twice?

But he shook his hand anyway.  “Charmed.”

 

Through playful lips made of yarn

That fragile Capricorn

Unraveled words like moths upon old scarves

 

“Surprise, your flat’s as boring and predictable as your personality,” Hawke teased, and Fenris rolled his eyes, letting the door hit the other behind him.  Hawke scoffed, pushing the door open.  “Beige walls, black furniture, and no decorations whatsoever… How do you not go crazy?”

“I’ve only been living here for a few months.”  Fenris pulled his cross-body bag off himself, setting it on the counter.  _I travelled over two thousand miles with nothing but a backpack and five gold,_ was what he wanted to say. But that would only raise questions. “And they don’t let us put paintings up.  ‘Ruins the walls.’”

“Boring.” Hawke leaned against the counter, glancing around.  “Paint some daisies on the walls; it’ll brighten the place up a little.”

“Painting on the walls is against the rules, too.”

“Then break the rules.  It’s too… beige in here.”

“Interior decorator by day, rogue by night,” Fenris mocked him, going to the cabinet and pulling out his water bottle.  He filled it up at the sink. “Want something to eat? I figure you will just take whatever you want anyway.”

“Do you have anything? If your fridge is as bare as your walls, don’t worry about it. I’ll take a glass of water, though.”

Fenris filled a glass of water, handing it to him. “Don’t take the glass. I just bought new dinnerware.”

“If it’s made of diamond, I can’t keep that promise,” Hawke laughed, taking a sip.  Fenris noticed that the human had a need to turn everything into a joke; while it was annoying and obviously an automatic reaction to serious topics, it managed to bring a smile to his face for the first time since he’d left Tevinter.  Despite the wonderfully disastrous first impression, he was beginning to foster some (conflicting) feelings for the man. He seemed a trustworthy sort, and someone valuable to have as a friend… But he’d only just met him.  He was a sly talker, had a smart mouth.  Surely there was something else he wanted from him.  “Where did you say you were from?”

Fenris’ gut reaction took over. “I didn’t.”

Hawke raised an eyebrow, but surprisingly didn’t press further. “I’m from Ferelden.  A little village called Lothering.”

“Oh?” Fenris took a sip from his water bottle.  “I would not have taken you for a Ferelden.”

“I never liked it in Ferelden.  Too much mud.”  Hawke’s expression became wistful.  “I do miss my dog, however.”

“What are they called there… ah, Mabari?”

“Bingo. His name was Mr. Chicken.” A pause.  “My brother named him when he was five. Not my idea.”

Fenris couldn’t help but to chuckle, covering his mouth to make sure he didn’t spit up any water.  “Maker.”

Hawke smiled widely.  “First time I’ve gotten you to laugh this whole time.  You’re so broody.”

The smile quickly wiped itself off Fenris’ face.  “I’m _not_ broody.”

“You’re _so_ broody.  If I were a woman, I’d have your broody children.”

“What?”

“Because… Because women would be all over you. Because you’re broody.”  Hawke took another sip, coughing a little.  “And if I were a… Never mind.  I’ve never been good at this.”

Fenris rolled his eyes, crossing his arms.  “At talking? I noticed.”

“I’m wonderful with my mouth, thank you very much.” Hawke smirked.  “Except when I’m trying to flirt.  It’s a Ferelden thing.”

Fenris’ face froze.  “Ah… Flirting?”

Hawke laughed.  “Yes.  I can talk a noble out of fifty gold for the sake of my dying son, but the second I want a person to acknowledge my existence I’m out of luck.”

“You were flirting… with me?”

“Is that so hard to believe?” Hawke laughed, albeit seemingly nervously.  “What, do you have a significant other?  I’ll leave it be.”

“No, I…” _I never had that freedom._   “I have never had the… pleasure.  And… Let us talk about something else.”

“You’re allowed to say no, but alright,” Hawke sighed, swirling the water in his cup around.

 

I missed your skin when you were east

 

Ever since Hawke left for whatever ridiculous money-making expedition he’d tacked onto, Fenris found himself thinking about him more than he deemed necessary.  It didn’t matter where he was, what he was doing; anything would remind him of the damned human.

He would be pouring himself a mug of coffee, and suddenly he would remember, _Hawke likes his coffee with too much cream._ Fenris always liked his coffee blacker than the plague. Not that it mattered, because Hawke would always make him try his coffee to determine if it was sickly sweet enough.

Once a week, he cleaned the old lady across the hallway’s entire apartment for two gold pieces, which was far too generous, but she insisted on it.  He would be sweeping her kitchen, and out of the blue, he’d think of Hawke breaking one of his glass cups on the kitchen tile.  Instead of being his naturally cool and casual self, he apologized profusely, cleaning it up on his own, and even bought him a new glass set a few days later.

When he’d unlock the door to his flat, he’d half expect to find it already unlocked and Hawke inside, since he picked the lock so often.  He ended up giving the man a spare key because he came over so often.

Even when he was sitting around, doing nothing, he found himself thinking of Hawke.  Was he okay?  Was he safe?  He claimed he’d be back “either in a month or not at all;” the Deep Roads were dangerous, and the damned idiot claimed he was an expert at slaying darkspawn by the time he’d left Lothering.  Or maybe he meant he wouldn’t be coming back if he found the riches he hoped for.  Maker, he hoped not.

Wait, why was he so worried?  He had only known the man for half a year.  He didn’t give a damn what the man did to gain his fortune.  He didn’t give a damn whether he was going to return and continue to be his friend or not.

That was a lie.  A ridiculously, stupidly, and ignorantly huge lie.

He scrubbed the dishes in his neighbor’s sink furiously as he kept thinking about Hawke.  Why was he so obsessed with this one man, this one rogue who almost ruined his life in Kirkwall before it even started? Why was he so concerned for this sarcastic, overly flirtatious man who cared more about his coin than some Tevinter refugee?  He managed to slice his hand open on a knife hidden in the water, and he growled loudly, wrapping it in a paper towel and sitting against the counter for a moment.

Eventually, he walked back to his flat, toying with the bandage wrapped around his hand. When he got to the door, however, he found it ajar.

 _Fuck. Someone broke in,_ was his first thought.

But when he walked inside, reaching toward his switchblade in his shirt pocket, he saw Hawke, lying on his back on the couch.

He put his switchblade back where it came from and walked towards the couch.

“Hawke?”

Hawke was holding a bottle of Fireball, his arm hanging off the edge of the cushion.  He was staring blankly into space, so Fenris sort of poked him on the shoulder.  The human suddenly jerked, spilling a little fireball on the tile.

“What—” Hawke glanced up, his eyes widening, and he stumbled up, his words slurring.  “T-The man of the house is home!” He laughed a little, taking a swig from the bottle before wiping his mouth, standing to meet him.  “Fenris, my friend, you… You got a haircut!”

“Hawke, what are you doing here?” Fenris held him up when he started to topple over.  “And… why are you drunk?”

Hawke smiled widely, hugging onto him tightly, almost making Fenris fall over from the weight.  “Why wouldn’t I be drunk? I’m… I’m a rich man! The Tethrases and I found an old dwarven ruin filled to the brim with treasures!”  Hawke’s voice lowered a bit, chuckling.  “’Course, his brother locked us in the thaig for some lousy lyrium idol and we had to find our way out, and we almost died fighting some old sloth demon and its minions, and…” He laughed suddenly, letting go of Fenris.  “I almost forgot the best part! D’you wanna hear the best part, Fen?”

Fenris hesitated, but he nodded, crossing his arms.

“My sister died.”  Fen’s eyes widened, but Hawke just kept laughing.  “She—She died! From a darkspawn wound! One minute she was all happy and glowy like she always is—Mother always said it was the magic—and the next, she was pale, and her eyes were hazy, and she had dark circles around her eyes, and every vein was—they were popped up on her body, dark and black like some sort of corpse, and—and—”

He took another swig, collapsing on the couch.  Fenris could see the tears in his eyes, even though he continued to laugh.

“And the _best_ part, I almost forgot: I had to put her down, before she changed,” he weakly chuckled, wiping a tear from his eye.  “I had to… to kill her, before she turned into one of those…” He swallowed hard, visibly starting to shake.  “Those… things.  She couldn’t be one of those, she… She…”  The tears were falling quickly from his eyes, down his face.

Fenris’ heart was racing; what was he supposed to say?  He never felt any attachment to his own sister, which was why he left her in Tevinter in the first place.  His hands clenched and unclenched nervously, and he reached out, putting a hand on his shoulder.

Hawke looked up at him like he’d just smacked him across the face, tears streaming down his cheeks.  But his look softened, and he picked up the bottle again, taking a quick swig before setting it down and wiping his face on his shirt.

“I…” Hawke stood, shaking his head.  “I shouldn’t have…come here.  I’m sorry, Fen, I… I’ll leave.”

“No!  I mean,” Fenris took his arm before he could fall over, sighing.  “Hawke, give me the bottle and lie down.”

Hawke faltered, looking as though he would fight him, but he sighed, wiping his eyes as he handed Fenris the bottle.

“Thank you.  Now lie down.  I will get you some coffee.”

 

I know the world's a broken bone

But melt your headaches, call it home

 

“I’m just going to say it,” Hawke said, taking a sip of his water.  “I want you to move in with me.”

Fenris stopped in the middle of a bite, his mouth hanging open with his fork barely an inch away from his lips.  Hawke had asked him to meet him for lunch at some small café down the street from his flat.  He sounded so casual on the phone; he had no way of preparing for a proposal like this.

“You… What?”

Hawke laughed, shoving a few fries in his mouth before saying, “I know.  That’s—” He swallowed. “That’s a lot out of nowhere.  You don’t have to make a decision today, but just hear me out.”

Fenris felt his mouth go dry.  “You want me to move in with you?  You want _me_ to move in with _you_?”

“Now that we’ve established who would be moving in with whom,” Hawke chuckled, “I want you to know why.  I didn’t just wake up this morning and think, ‘Hm, it’d be a great idea to freak out Fenris today by asking him to move in with me.’”

“But…”  Fenris looked around, idly itching at the markings on his wrist.  “You don’t know anything about me.”

“That’s one reason I want you to move in with me,” Hawke grinned. “I want to get to know you, if you’ll let me.”  Hawke wiped his hands on a napkin, clasping his hands together and resting them on the table.  “Look, I know it’s sudden.  But I’ve been thinking, and since Bethany…” He trailed off, pursing his lips briefly before continuing. “Since Bethany passed, I realized how lonely it is living without a roommate.  It’s been six months and I’m going bonkers without someone else in the flat.  That’s the main reason.”

“But why me?” Fenris said, poking at his salad before setting the fork down.  He’d already lost his appetite; he found himself not hungry more and more often, especially when he was around Hawke.  “You barely know me. I could be a Tevinter assassin sent here to befriend and eventually kill you.”

“So you’re from Tevinter!” Hawke laughed.  Fenris could only scowl.  “I’ll be honest, I had a feeling.  But that doesn’t matter now.  All I want to know is if you even want to move in with me.  I can always ask someone else, but I figured I might ask you first, since you’re the most likely to be quiet.  And the view is nice, too,” he winked.  Fenris rolled his eyes.

“I don’t know.” Fenris took a drink of his water before looking around instinctively, avoiding Hawke’s gaze.  “I… Maybe.”

 “It’d be a bargain on rent.  You could save more money.  I’ll let you decorate the walls.”  Hawke was counting off reasons on his fingers.  “You would have someone to depend on.  I know you don’t fully trust me yet, and this would give you a chance to see whether I’m someone you wanna stick around for.  Plus, I buy a lot of liquor.  We could get drunk together.  I’m fun when I’m drunk.”  He was up to seven fingers. “You could—”

“Alright!” Fenris’ voice raised, and he cleared his throat when he realized the other patrons were looking at him.  “I’ll… move in with you.  But one rule, and one rule that you absolutely must follow.”

“One rule.  I’ll follow it.  What is it?”

“Quit talking.”

Hawke laughed, then covered his mouth, nodding.

 

Cracking open a beer, Hawke leaned against his countertop, taking a long chug before setting it down.  There were only a few cardboard boxes in the room; Fenris didn’t have a whole lot of valuables even after a year and a half of living in Kirkwall.  He had discontinued his lease, and after moving all the furniture and boxes in, they finally had a moment to relax.  Fenris jumped up on the countertop, his feet dangling off the edge.

“Can I ask you something?” Hawke said after swallowing the beer in his mouth.  Fenris hesitated, but nodded, taking a drink of his own beer.

“Where in Tevinter are you from? No, that’s a bad question, because I don’t know anything about Tevinter anyway.”  He took another sip.  “Okay, better one: why did you leave?”

Fenris felt his jaw twitch, and he found himself staring off into space before replying, “Clerical error.”

Hawke grinned a little. “Not ready to answer that? That’s alright.  Here’s another one, might be a little invasive but just tell me to shut up. What’s with the markings? Did you have Dalish in your family?”

“That is up there with ‘clerical error.’”

“Fine, no harm done.  Last one: why are you so broody?"

Fenris scowled, then looked down, deciding to try and beat him at his own game.  "Why do you deflect serious topics with humor?"

A roar of a laugh erupted from Hawke's throat.  "Because I _have_ a sense of humor, unlike you."

"I have a sense of humor.  I just prefer not to use it as a coping mechanism."

"Oh, now you're digging into my psyche?" Hawke grinned, tweaking the tab on his beer can before setting it down. "I can play at that game. You were a servant, or something similar, because sometimes you don't look people in the eye.  Then, sometimes, you get this excited look on your face, like you just realized you're allowed to give eye contact now." Hawke made a motion with his hands to make it look like his head was exploding.  "Mindblown."

Fenris' eyes widened, then his expression grew stern.  "You... Your father died when you were young, and you were the eldest man of the household.  I can tell because you have a hard time relenting control, but you always have to take care of someone.  You drive me utterly insane when you won't let the girl at the supermarket bag your groceries."

Hawke looked like he'd just been challenged.  "You never had any siblings growing up.  You have a hard time sharing."

"I hate it when people touch my things, Hawke, that doesn't mean I don't have siblings," Fenris snapped.  "You were poor in Lothering.  That is why you scam nobles."

"You like spicy food."

"I..." Fenris blinked.  "What? I do, but why?"

"You're Tevinter.  They don't have nerves in their tongues in Tevinter." Hawke snorted, and Fenris almost punched him, but he sighed instead, letting it go.  He was never serious.

 

Hey moon, please forget to fall down

Hey moon, don't you go down

 

They took it one step at a time.

Fenris still had flashes, memories of when the lyrium was burned into his skin.  It didn’t hurt when people touched him, but the goosebumps and nausea it induced may as well have been real pain.

But it was different when Hawke touched him.  It started with an “accidental” brush of hands as they both reached for the same thing.  Then Hawke would slide past him in the cramped area of their kitchen, his hips sweeping past his own.  Soon enough, he wouldn’t even notice when Hawke took his hand, playing with his fingers while they watched movies on his couch.  He found himself even enjoying the feeling of the other’s thigh pressing against his own as they sat together, his arm wrapped around his shoulders.

Then came the kisses.  Beginning pecks on his cheeks, in time, turned into intimate kisses along his neck.  He became overwhelmingly aware of the state of his own lips, how chapped they were, yet Hawke didn’t seem to care.  Hawke would sometimes take his cheeks in his large hands, much to Fenris’ discontent, and examine his face, starting with his eyes and ending with a gentle but firm smooch to the lips.  “You’re always frowning,” he’d tease.  “I’ve got to do something to put a smile on your face."

He hated it.  Not the kisses, not the touching; he hated the fact that Hawke felt the need to be gentle with him, like some sort of expensive vase.  No, he hated the fact that Hawke _did_ have to be gentle with him, because he would fucking blow up if he did so much as touch him without announcing it.  It was unnerving how little he had recovered from his trauma in—what, two years? Was he really so fucked up that he couldn’t allow himself to lose himself in the arms of another?  Half the time, they would have to take breaks in between kisses where Fenris would go outside to cool off, to slow his heartrate down so it didn’t feel like his heart was going to beat right out of his chest.  Sometimes, he would barely notice Hawke’s arms around him because they felt so homey. But when he did notice, he would panic, jerking away quickly, because all he could think about was Danarius’ hands on him.

Fuck.  And Hawke didn’t even know about Danarius.  Not that he wanted to tell him… But, in truth, he did have this overwhelming urge to share everything with the human, to divulge as much information into this man so that maybe, just maybe, he wouldn’t hold the burden alone.

But it wasn’t the time.  They were watching some documentary about chickens.  Hawke always found these idiotic films that they wouldn’t even watch; they would just stare at the TV while they slowly slid into each other’s arms over the course of the boring education being provided on the making of bubblegum, or the Free Marches Economic Collapse of the Dragon Age, or the ravings of chantry lunatics who conspired about the Rite of Tranquility and how it caused madness in Templars.  He was too focused on the thick-fingered, warm hand sliding up and down his back, rubbing gently underneath his shirt along his spine.  He barely registered the colors of the TV as a soft kiss was placed upon his forehead and another hand pulled him closer into his arms.  Fenris clenched his fists, closing his eyes tightly as he pressed his face into Hawke’s chest.

“You alright?” Hawke whispered, his eyes still glued to the TV.  His hand left underneath his shirt, and Fenris could feel himself relax again.  “Ah.  Sorry, too fast?”

 _Not fast enough.  And that’s all my fault._   “You’re fine.  I apologize.”

“For what?  You don’t like people touching you.  I’m just lucky I got far enough that I get to kiss you.”

Fenris scoffed, looking up at him with a scowl, though his face was flushed.  “I am not a porcelain doll, Hawke.  Do not treat me like one.”

“It’s not weak to admit you’ve got an aversion, Fen.”  Hawke looked back at him for a brief second before his eyes returned to the TV.  “Besides, the last time I tried to kiss you without telling you, you pinned me against a wall and started glowing.  I’d rather respect you than die.”

Fenris suddenly sat up, scooting towards the other end of the couch.

Hawke sighed, sitting up but staying on his end of the couch.  “I won’t push it.  But I’m over here anytime you want to cuddle again.”

They didn’t talk until the documentary was over.  Fenris spent the whole time trying to reason with himself in his own head.  He realized he was being irrational; he had never been respected before, but Hawke was right; he had a hard time differentiating between what was a sign of weakness and what needed to be respected.  He needed to be strong no matter what. His life depended on that.  His sense of self depended on that. He had nothing if not his strength. He bit his lip, rubbing his arms roughly before hugging his knees.

Hawke eventually turned off the TV once the credits were over, then glanced over at Fenris, rubbing his neck awkwardly.

“I’ll… be in my room if you need me.”  Hawke stood, walking out of the room.

Fenris hesitated, debating in his head for a good ten minutes until he finally climbed off the couch, walking to Hawke’s room.

Hawke was already in his boxers, brushing his teeth in his bathroom.  Fenris closed the door behind him, sitting on the other’s bed.  It felt like a righteous step forward, sitting on his bed; like he’d just made the decision of his life.  He heard Hawke gargle and spit, then he walked out of the bathroom, running his fingers through his thick beard, stopping as he made eye contact with Fenris.

Before he knew it, he had his arms wrapped around the neck of the human, whose lips were pressing comfortably against his own, hanging off him like a coat off a hook.  He was quickly pressed into the mattress, firm but gentle kisses covering his neck and chest.

Hawke’s fingers kept pressing into a small knot at the center of his shoulder blade, a pleasant feeling that allowed Fenris to lose himself for a moment.  Propping Fenris’ head up with his hand behind his neck, he kissed him deeply as he let his fingers work their magic on the elf.  Any time Fenris showed the slightest bit of discomfort, he’d move his hands back up to his face, cupping his cheeks and running his fingers along his jaw line.

“I have a question,” Hawke whispered against his neck, pulling back so that his deep brown eyes were staring into Fenris’ green ones.  “We don’t have to do anything tonight. But how do you feel about hickeys?”

“Hickeys?”  What the hell was a hickey?  He learned many disgusting things under Danarius, but he’d never heard of a hickey before.  Was that innuendo for something?

“Love bites.  Sucking on the skin ‘til there’s a purple spot.”

Oh, for the love of— Why did that sound so appealing? “That is… fine, I suppose.”

“I was just making sure.  Some people hate them.” Hawke laughed a little, kissing him again, silencing him before the situation could be made more awkward.

By the end of the night, Fenris begged the moon not to go down. 

 

Sugarcane in the easy mornin'

Weathervanes my one and lonely

 

Fenris awoke with a feeling of warmth spread throughout his entire body, a warmth he had not felt in his entire life.  He awoke to soft kisses along his shoulder, hands pressing against his stomach, and thick legs intertwined with his lanky ones.

For the first time, he didn’t feel the urge to escape, to panic and leave without saying goodbye.

“I could get used to this,” Hawke murmured in his ear, pressing his lips to the pointed end of it before slithering his arms around his waist to rub his back.

Fenris didn’t feel the need to speak.  He simply shifted so that he was facing the other, pecking his lips before pressing his forehead against Hawke’s.

He could feel Hawke’s smile against his lips.  “Want some breakfast?”

“No.”  Fenris closed his eyes.  “I'll kill you if you move.”

“Yes, sir.”  Hawke tightened his arms around him, kissing his lips again before pressing his face into the elf’s neck.  His breath tickled his collarbone, but Fenris simply closed his eyes, feeling himself become accustomed to the feeling.

 

You are at the top of my lungs

Drawn to the ones who never yawn


	2. Shake it Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris can't let go of his past, and it affects his relationship with Hawke, until his demons catch up with him. Fenris discovers he's not as alone as he feels. Based off the song Shake It Off by Florence + the Machine.

Regrets collect like old friends

Here to relive your darkest moments

 

Cold sweat stuck Fenris’ shirt to his back as he jerked up in bed, his heart pounding what felt like a thousand miles an hour.  The lingering feeling of his marks burning along his body grew less intense by the second as he gathered his bearings, realizing he was in Hawke’s room.

He never thought he’d be as happy as he was to hear the human snoring loudly next to him.  He took a deep breath, kicking the blanket off his legs and swinging them over the edge of the bed. The squeaking of the mattress barely fazed Hawke, only a brief hiccup between snores before he gained unconsciousness again.  Fenris stared at him a second longer before he silently stood, grabbing his jacket off the top of the dresser before walking out of the room.

He slid his arms into the sleeves before stepping outside, leaning against the rusted railing that lined his floor’s balcony.  He reached in his pocket, grabbing his pack of smokes before lighting one up, taking a deep puff before exhaling smoke.

He had only recently taken up smoking.  Drinking wasn’t doing anything to calm him down, and he very well couldn’t go into work drunk; besides, Hawke thought it was sexy.  Not that it mattered what he thought. 

His lips gently squeezed at the tip of the cigarette as he breathed it in, letting the calmness wash over him. But even a pack of cigarettes had a hard time quelling the anxiety that was stoking inside of him.

He thought he’d seen Danarius yesterday, at Walmart.  He was buying liquor for some stupid get-together Hawke was planning, and, just for a brief moment, he spotted Danarius, over by the meat section.  He disappeared as quickly as he appeared, leaving Fenris slack jawed in terror.  His hands shook just remembering it.

It wasn’t the first time he’d seen him in public.  He’d seen him in the farmers’ market, the mall, the park… He was seeing him everywhere.  It was like he really couldn’t escape him.

“What are you doing out here?” Fenris jumped, almost dropping his cigarette, when Hawke placed a hand on his shoulder, sliding it across his back as he stood next to him.  Fenris coughed, flicking the ashes off the end of the cig.  “It’s three in the morning.”

“I know.” 

Hawke frowned at his somber tone, running his hand over his back gently. “Talk to me, Fen.” Fenris simply dropped the cigarette, stomping the flame out with his shoe before turning toward the door. 

“It is nothing.”

“Fenris—” Hawke tried to take his hand, but Fenris pushed his hand away, quickly walking inside.

 

I like to keep my issues drawn

It's always darkest before the dawn

 

They were drinking.  Again.  It seemed that was all they ever did.  Hawke had brought home wine, the kind Fenris liked: aggregio pavali.  He had no idea where he’d even found it; it was a Tevinter exclusive, and Fenris only had the one bottle he’d stolen from Danarius’ wine cellar.  But he poured them both a glass, kissing his forehead before he sat down next to him.

“How was work?” Hawke took a small sip of his wine, idly checking his phone.  “Is Mrs. Vadnais still rattling those old bones?”

Fenris hid a small smile behind his glass as he drank.  “Yes.  She came back from the hospital last week, had a heart attack, but she’s feeling fine now.”

“Good.  I’d hate to see her kick the bucket.”  Hawke held his glass up as he spoke.  “Is her house still disgusting?”

“As a genlock.”

“Delicious.  She’s lucky to have you.”

“I am lucky she pays me so much.”  Fenris wiped his mouth on his sleeve, propping his chin up in his palm.  Hawke noticed his smile fade, and he frowned briefly before getting a big smile on his face.

“I bet she’s got a huge stash of gold somewhere.”

“Hawke, don’t.”

“I’m not going to steal from her, Fen,” Hawke laughed, taking another sip.  “But she’s got to have a stash somewhere.  She doesn’t work, she’s home and sick all the time, yet she’s got all this gold she likes to pay you.”

Fenris rolled his eyes, rubbing his chin.  “Yes, and that stash is called social security.”

“You know what? I think she’s got a crush on you.” Hawke grinned behind his glass. “That’s got to be why she pays you so much.  She’s a cougar.”

“For the love of—” Fenris rolled his eyes, downing the rest of his glass, relishing in the pleasant smoothness of the wine before reaching for the bottle to pour himself more.  He’d never hear the end of this one, he was sure.  “You already started drinking before I came home, didn’t you?”

Hawke laughed, shuffling closer to him.  “She can’t help it, Fenris.  Maybe you should indulge her.”

“The day I do that is the day I go back to Tevinter.” Fenris’ hand shook slightly as he poured himself another glass. “If you are so interested, maybe you should go after her.  I certainly won’t stop you.”

“I’m already taken.”  Hawke winked, and Fenris could only shake his head with a meager grin.  “At least, I think so.  He gives me mixed signals; I think he secretly hates me.”

“He would not have stuck around for so long if he hated you.”  His bottom lip cupped the glass as he took another drink. 

Hawke gave a warm smile, holding out his glass.  “To mutual non-hatred.”

 

I'm always dragging that horse around

All of his questions, such a mournful sound

Tonight I'm gonna bury that horse in the ground

 

One moment, they were on the couch, leaned against each other and barely focused on the TV set.  The next, they were standing in the kitchen, screaming at each other.

Or, well, Fenris was doing most of the screaming.  He didn’t know what had come over him; his hands were clenched hard enough to bend steel, his heart was racing, and he couldn’t stop gritting his teeth.  He knew he was being irrational—again.  Yet here there was, shouting at Hawke for something even he didn’t know.  All these fights ended one of two ways; either Hawke would manage to calm him down without sounding like a condescending, pitying asshole, or Fenris would end up leaving, slamming the door behind him and cooling off during a walk.

The fights were happening more often, too.  It was like everything Hawke did set him off.  Hawke would accidentally drop his food, and Fenris would nail into him.  Hawke would ask him a question about his past, and Fenris would blow up.  He would snuggle too close in the mornings, and Fenris would just stomp out of the room.  He felt like he was losing control, and the last thing he wanted to do was lose Hawke.

Fenris was sitting out on the balcony, his legs dangling underneath the railing, another cigarette in between his fingers.  They’d had another fight.  Hawke was probably in the kitchen, trying to get drunk to forget that they’d even fought.  He was so patient with him; Fenris knew he didn’t deserve someone so kind and consistently accommodating with him.  And Fenris wouldn’t do so much as tell him the truth.

 _Maybe I should tell him everything_.  Fenris sighed, taking a puff of his half a cigarette before putting it out on the concrete.

He heard the door creak open behind him, and a relieved sigh come from Hawke.  He sat down next to him, crossing his legs, trying not to get too close to him in case he was still upset.  Fenris rolled his eyes at that, though he knew he would get upset at the drop of a pin.

It was quiet outside.  The night was cloudy; it looked like it might rain.

“You were right.”  Fenris’ voice was soft, and Hawke blinked in surprise.  “You’re always right.  But you were right a few weeks ago, too.”

“About?”

“You said you knew I was a servant, because I don’t look anyone in the eye.”

Hawke furrowed his brow, gripping onto the rusted iron of the railing.  “You were a servant?”

“I was a slave.”

There was a pause.  It felt like minutes, hours before Hawke could say something.  He wanted to make sure what he said wouldn’t hurt him.

“For how long?”

“I don’t know.”  Fenris took out another cigarette, tapping it on his knee before he decided he didn’t need another one, slipping it back in the pack.  “He was the one who marked me, burned these marks into my skin.  With lyrium.” He chewed on the end of his fingernail for a moment before looking Hawke in the eye.  “The pain was… unbearable.  So much that I do not remember anything before it happened.”

“I’m sorry.”

“So am I.”

There was another pause.  Hawke needed to prepare himself for the answer before he asked the question.  “Did you kill him?”

“My master?”  He shook his head, chuckling bitterly.  “Never had the chance.  I would be hanged for trying.  That is why I escaped.”  His hands shook as he gripped the bars of the railing.  “His name was Danarius.  Not that it matters.  I’ll carve _my_ name into his skin the next time I see him.”

“Are you in danger?”

“What does it matter to you?”  Fenris found himself getting angry again.  He clenched his fingers around the bars, feeling enough rage inside him that he could probably bend them.  “I have been in danger ever since I left. Didn’t change a thing.”

“If there’s something I can do to help him from finding you, I want to do it,” Hawke explained calmly, but it just sounded patronizing to Fen.

“Don’t you get it?  There is nothing you _can_ do.  There’s never been anything you could do to help.  I would not want your damn help, anyway.”  Fenris started to get up, but Hawke grabbed his arm gently.

“Please don’t go.  Don’t go away again.”  The pain dripped from Hawke’s voice.  “Tell me whatever you want to.  Insult me.  Tell me I don’t care.  Just don’t walk away again.”

Fenris’ face fell, hesitating, but he sat back down.  He couldn’t let go of the bars; it was like his hands were cemented on, he was gripping them so hard.  He felt Hawke snake his arms around his waist, and all he could do was close his eyes, try to envelop himself in the warmth.

“I know it’s in your nature to push people away.”  Hawke’s breaths were deep; it sounded as though he was trying to keep from crying.  “But you’re not getting rid of me.”  Hawke pressed his nose into Fenris’ neck, letting out a faint, pained chuckle.  “I still need the rent money.”

Fenris could only snort, letting go of the bars and pushing the human away.  He had been clenching his teeth; the stupid smile plastered on his face made his teeth sore.  He started to stand up again, only to have Hawke pull him back into his arms.  “Fucking idiot.”

“I’m _your_ fucking idiot.”

 

And I've been a fool and I've been blind

I can never leave the past behind

 

“I feel like I need to balance it out a little bit.”

It was Friday.  Hawke had suggested a few days ago that they take the day off for a long weekend vacation, and Fenris agreed.  Sitting out on a lake pier just outside of Kirkwall, they’d been spending the entire day hiking, forgetting about their responsibilities at home and getting some well-needed exercise to get the blood pumping.  They’d reached the pier late in the afternoon, and they decided on making the clearing around it a good campsite.  After getting frustrated with how to set the damn tent up, they cooled off by taking a quick swim in the lake, even though there was a “No Swimming” sign posted every damn foot around the perimeter.  (Not that it mattered; there was no one around.)

Fenris wrung the water out part of his boxers as his legs dangled from the pier, raising an eyebrow at Hawke. “Balance out what?”

“The relaying of personal information.”  Hawke checked his phone for a moment before continuing.  “It’s a little heavy on your end, so I thought I’d balance it.”

“Hawke,” Fenris started, but Hawke interrupted.

“Yeah, I know.”  The human set his phone down, lying back on the dock.  “We came out here to avoid the heavy shit.  But I’d rather get it out there than sit on my hands with you not knowing anything about me.”

“I know you grew up in Lothering.”

“Did you know my father was an apostate and died when I was five?”

Fenris went silent.

“There’s more where that came from.  My little sister, Bethany?  She had a twin brother.  Carver.  He died on our way to Kirkwall.  We were Blight refugees, trying to survive just like anyone else.” Hawke chuckled a little.  “He died striking the first blow at an ogre.  Idiot always liked the idea of dying for glory.  But that didn’t make it hurt less when he died.”

“I do not know what to say.  I’m sorry.”

“No need.”  Hawke wrapped his fingers around Fenris’ wrist, gently tugging it so that he’d lie down next to him.

Fenris looked down at his hand, clasping it tightly in his own before lying down on his side, facing the human.  “You did not need to tell me all this.  I still have not told you everything, Hawke, and I might never.  It does not mean I do not trust you.”

The corners of Hawke’s mouth turned up in a soft grin.  “You trust me, then?”

“Enough that I don’t expect you to stab me in the back while we sleep, at least.”  Fenris’ cracked a small smile, and Hawke suddenly pulled him on top of him, pressing his forehead against his.

“I trust you with my life.” Hawke pecked his lips.  “You’ll get there eventually.”

“You are so confident in your ability to change my mind.”  Fenris held himself up with both arms on either side of Hawke’s head, letting the man kiss him however many times he saw fit.  He was so affectionate; it was still hard to get used to, even after two years of living with the brute.  “Yet you were the same man who robbed me blind.”

“When we met? You were hardly blind to it.” Hawke kissed him again.  “If you’re talking about your heart rather than your coin, however, I might agree.  I’m good at stealing your heart.” Fenris found himself unable to come up with a reply, his cheeks reddening, and he just rolled his eyes, attempting to climb up off the man.  Hawke laughed, wrapping his arms around his waist before he could escape, kissing him again.  “Admit it.  You’re a little enraptured.”

“The only thing I am enraptured with right now is the idea of _rupturing_ your heart.”

“So violent.  I’ll let you go for a kiss.”

 

And it's hard to dance with a devil on your back

So shake him off

 

Fenris had been reading the letter over and over again for the past three hours.

“Come and meet me in the Hanged Man.  I’ve a room there for the next week.  Please, Fenris.  It has been so long since I’ve seen my dear brother’s face.”

It was Varania, his sister.  She had left Tevinter to see him.

And he knew it was a trap.  Danarius had to have been plotting something, using his family as bait.  But some inkling of him was convinced that this was the only way to reclaim his past.  His only chance of knowing what had happened to his family, his mother, his sister.  He never knew what had become of them when he was enslaved.

He bit the inside of his lip, hard as he paced back and forth in the kitchen.  Seeing the lock turn in the front door, he quickly shoved the letter in the back pocket of his jeans.

Hawke smiled when he saw him, placing his bag on the counter, cracking his knuckles.  “How was work?”

“Fine.”  Fenris stared off into space, his mind visibly on something else. 

Hawke’s smile faded, and he stepped up to the elf, cupping his cheeks.  “What’s wrong?”

Fenris took a deep breath before he could snap at him, knowing that he was not being patronizing but concerned.  He took the letter out of his back pocket and held it out to him, looking down.  “My sister sent me a letter.”

“You’ve a sister?”  Hawke took the letter, reading it as he leaned against the counter.  His lips moved as he quickly skimmed through it, brows furrowing at the end.  “Did she… know what’s-his-name? Danarius the bastard?”

“Yes.  She was his slave before… before I became his property.”  Fenris shook his head, looking down.

“Then this is a trap.”  Hawke said it so plainly, like it was obvious.  He glanced over the letter again.  “Do you know how dangerous it would be if you met her at the… Hanged Man?  Maker, couldn’t she have afforded a better inn?”

“I have to go, Hawke.”

Hawke’s eyes widened, then he looked furious.  “You’re… You’re going to go?  Surely you jest?”

“What other choice do I have?” Fenris snapped, snatching the letter from his hands.  “If Danarius is here, in the city, what else should I do? Wait until he tracks me down here in my sleep and kills you before taking me back to Tevinter?  I cannot allow that.”

“Then…” Hawke shook his head, suddenly leaving the room.

Fenris blinked, following him, looking furious.  “What?  What in blazes is your problem?”

Hawke was grabbing the daggers off the mantle, emblazoned with his family’s crest, above their headboard.  He rummaged through the drawers of his dresser until he found his sheathes, putting them on and placing each dagger in each sheathe.  Fenris stood there, watching until it seemed Hawke was finished.

“I’m coming with you.”

 

There she sat at the bar, taking sips of her drink. 

Varania.

Her hair was impossibly red and long, her skin much paler than his own and void of any similar markings.  The only similarity he could note, he could see from fifty feet away, were her bright, emerald green eyes, hardened by work and the rare opportunity to sleep.

He bit his lip, glancing around to survey the bar scene.  There was no one obviously from Tevinter anywhere, nor did she seem to be with anyone.

Hawke placed a hand on his shoulder.  “I’m right behind you,” he whispered.

He took a deep breath, letting it fill his lungs before letting it all out in a shaky exhale, and walked over to her.

“Varania?”

She jumped a bit, looking behind her to find her brother standing before her.  She stood quickly, blinking rapidly in surprise.

“It’s… It’s really you.”  Varania looked him up and down, obviously more than shocked that he had actually come.

“I remember you.”  Fenris reached out, only to falter with his fingers barely an inch away from her face.  “We… played in mother’s garden.  I remember.  You called me…”

“Leto.”  Varania gave a seemingly pained smile.  “Your name was Leto.”

“Yes.”  Fenris found himself smiling, shaking his head.  “Leto.  You called me—”

“Oh, my little wolf.”

Fenris’ blood froze in his veins at the sound of that voice.  His eyes darted in the direction of the voice to find that his fears had come true.  He heard Hawke unsheathe one of his daggers.

“What a sweet family reunion.  I almost didn’t want to interrupt it.”  Danarius took one step at a time down the stairs, followed by an entourage of well-armed men.  “It was cute for a moment, you thinking you’d actually be reunited with your sister.  It is unfortunate that I’ll need to take you back to Tevinter.”

Fenris clenched his teeth and his fists, glaring back at Varania.  “What did he offer you?  Huh?  Gold? A better job?”

“Apprenticeship.  To become a magister,” Varania said quietly.

His head began to pound, and his voice rose.  “You sold out your own _brother_ to become a magister?”

“Leto, please—”

“Do not call me that!”  Fenris felt the heat rise from his skin as his markings started to glow as well as his fists.  “You’ve no right! None of you do!  I will die before I return to slavery, Danarius!”  He glanced back behind him to acknowledge Hawke, but he had suddenly disappeared.  His eyes widened, and he glared deep into Danarius’ eyes, realizing he was alone.  Again.  He glowed brighter with rage, feeling more betrayed than he’d ever felt in his life.

“It is ‘Master,’ little elf,” Danarius sneered, grabbing his staff from the holster on his back.  “Ah, but we’ll work on that once you’re back in irons.  I would just sew your mouth shut, but—”

It was then that Danarius realized he couldn’t finish his sentence, because a dagger had found itself across his throat.  Blood spurted, and he grasped at his neck wildly, falling to his knees.

The tavern erupted in quickened chaos, innocents running for the exit.  Fenris didn’t care; he pushed his way past the crowd, landing a blow inside the chests of three of Danarius’ guards.  He wished he’d taken his greatsword from Tevinter so he could feel the satisfying splashes of blood across his face with each slash, but he settled for watching the life drain from their eyes as his fist phased into their chests, reaching inside to squeeze the life from their hearts.

He yelled out in pain as one of his mercenaries slashed at his leg with a sword, and he dodged out of the way of a more serious hit before leaping at the man with all his strength, landing a blow in between his ribs and his stomach.  At the same time, he spotted a dagger, seemingly by itself, sink deep into his back, the pointed end peeking out through his chest.

Once the chaos had died down, and the last of the enemies were determined to be dead or escaped, Fenris collapsed against a bar table, specks of blood rampant throughout his hair and all over his clothes.  He groaned loudly at the pain coming from his leg, and he felt a wet hand on his shoulder, accompanied by panting and the sheathing of a blade.

“We have to get out of here, Fenris.”  It was Hawke.  Fenris looked at him, swallowing the pain down before nodding.  He let himself strap his arm around Hawke’s neck as he started to limp out, until he heard soft crying.

Varania.  Fenris clenched his fists, beginning to glow dimly in anger, and Hawke tried to grab him, but he limped, determined, over to his sister, grabbing her shirt and pulling her out of the corner she’d been hiding in.

“Please, Fenris,” she begged.  “I didn’t want it to turn into a bloodbath.  I didn’t want to hurt you.  You’ve got to understand—”

“Yet here you are, your plans to betray me soiled.”

“I just wanted to take care of Mother! She is sick, Leto—”

“What did I tell you?” he bellowed, tightening his grip on her shirt.  “I am not Leto.  You’ve no right to call me that, not after what you have done.”  His fist began to glow, and he let go of her, bringing his fist back.

Hawke could only turn his head, wincing as he heard her gasp for air.  When he looked back, she lied on the ground, dead.  Fenris only stared at her, complete apathy in his expression, yet anyone around could feel the pain in his heart just by looking at him.

“Tainted.  My entire life, tainted by magic.”  Fenris’ markings dimmed, and he felt himself weaken, stumbling against the bar.  “I feel so… alone.”

“You’re not alone.”  Hawke took his arm, wrapping it around his shoulders and propping him up.  “You’ve got me.  And _we’ve_ got to get out of here.”

Fenris hesitated, but nodded, starting to limp with him.

 

And I am done with my graceless heart

So tonight I'm gonna cut it out and then restart

 

Fenris’ hands shook as he struggled to hold himself up on the bed, resisting the urge to just collapse on his back.  Hawke was knelt on the ground, bandaging his leg as best he could; thank the Maker, it was only a flesh wound.  He couldn’t imagine the trouble he’d be in if he went to the hospital with that much blood on him _and_ a sword slash.  It travelled from atop his knee, spiraling around to the other side of his ankle.  And it hurt like hell.  Especially after the peroxide and elfroot.

“This is just my prognosis,” Hawke softly smiled, “but I think you’re going to be fine.  We’ll check on it tomorrow morning; you’re out of work for a while, though.”

Fenris didn’t respond; his mind was elsewhere.  Hawke frowned a little, getting up from his spot on the floor to sit next to him on the bed.  He gently took his hand, and Fenris’ arm gave out as he fell against Hawke’s side.  He blinked, and then sighed, just letting himself lie against the human.

“Let me get you a Xanax, yeah?  Get your mind to clear out.  Get yourself to sleep tonight.” Hawke started to move, but Fenris tightly clenched onto his arm, so he stayed put.  “What can I do for you, huh?”

“Did you mean it?”

Hawke’s brows furrowed.  “Mean what?”

“When you said I was not alone.  That I had you.  Did you mean it?”

“Of course I meant it.”  Hawke pulled him closer, gently pecking the top of his head before running his fingers through his hair.  The hands on his arm loosened slightly.  “I’m here no matter what.  You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

“I trust you, Hawke.”  Fenris’ expression hadn’t changed from the moment he started bandaging his wounds.  He stared blankly into nothing, but somehow his words felt full, rang true.  “With my life.  I thought for a moment…”  He shook his head, closing his eyes.  “It does not matter.  You came through for me, you earned me my freedom, and that is a debt I’ll never be able to repay.”

“You did most of the work.”  Hawke smiled.  His smile, though, quickly faded as he began to think.  “What will you do now that you’re free?”

Fenris took a breath, thinking intently.  “For the first time, I can freely say that I have no idea.”

“Does that mean you’ll stay with me for a little while longer?” Hawke hoped aloud.

“Where else would I go?”  Fenris’ emerald eyes met his brown ones.  “I cannot imagine abandoning you now.”

 

And I'm damned if I do and I'm damned if I don't

So here's to drinks in the dark at the end of my road

And I'm ready to suffer and I'm ready to hope

It's a shot in the dark aimed right at my throat

 

A thick, large hand slid along his waist, over his hips, as Hawke talked in his ear about nothing he cared about.

They sat, Fenris’ leg propped up on the ottoman, their wine glasses on the coffee table, watching some ridiculous conspiracy theorist on Netflix talk about the presence of aliens inside all mages.  Fenris leaned against Hawke, his thin, lanky frame melding perfectly alongside the tall rogue.   He was supposed to be listening to whatever work story the man had for him that night, but he couldn’t bring himself to pay attention.

All he could focus on was the way his fingers massaged at his thigh through his jeans, the way his other hand brushed Fenris’ bangs from his eyes as he spoke, the way he laughed at his own jokes; though he didn’t hear the joke itself, he assured himself that it was probably a terrible one.

Hardened by a strict regimen of barely any sleep, constant weapons training against other elves, and the starting place of his markings, Fenris had acknowledged that gentle touches and warmth was not something that would find itself into his world.  There was only aggression and steel in his life.  He knew of romance and love and comfort, but he was convinced it was never going to be a part of his own life.

But sitting there, with his wounds bandaged and maintained, a warmth even he could admit was finding its way into his cold bones, and affection he couldn’t have imagined from his own mother when he was a baby, he realized he wasn’t alone.

He would still have obstacles ahead, surely.  Life was all but unfair. But knowing that he didn’t have to go through it all through the harsh, cold loneliness he was taught… It was something he never thought he’d deserve.

“…And then she had sex with me.”

Fenris’ ears caught the last bit of Hawke’s story, eyes widening, quickly looking at him.  “What?”

Hawke laughed, rolling his eyes.  “I knew you weren’t paying attention.”

Fenris shook his head, his expression becoming cold.  “I was… thinking.”

“About?”

 _How often you touch me.  And how much I like it.  Can I even say that?_ Fenris settled into Hawke’s side, wrapping his arms around the man’s waist.  “Nothing.”

“I was thinking about how comfortable you’re getting.”  Hawke grinned, and Fenris’ face reddened, scowling.

“Is that a bad thing?  Would you rather I stick my greatsword up your—”

“Hey, be calm. I’m not making jokes at your expense.”  Hawke kissed his forehead.  “It’s a nice change.  I was acknowledging how much I enjoy this.  Being able to distract you like this.”

“Distract me?”  Fenris felt his hand slowly crawl up the back of his shirt, rubbing his fingers along his spine.  It gave him goosebumps, but in the good way.

“From everything else.  You’re always so distracted.  Must be the broodiness.”

“I’m not… broody.”  Fenris sighed softly, resting his head against the other’s shoulder.  His hand skated back and forth, cupping the curve of his waist before sliding back down his spine.  It went upward further, kneading at the lean muscle in his back.  Fenris found himself arching his back against the treatment with a soft, pleasant hum.

Hawke’s other hand found its way to Fenris’ chin, cupping his cheek briefly.  “Lie down.  I’m giving you a massage.”

“A… what?”

“A massage. Your muscles are tenser than a dwarf on the surface for the first time.”  Fenris gave him a skeptical look, but he complied, lying his head on Hawke’s lap.

 _Maker_. Fenris thought he’d died and gone to the Golden City.  Hawke’s fingers felt like pure heaven on his muscles.  He felt himself become very, very warm, uncomfortably so, from the pleasure of it all.  He found himself staring deep into the television to distract himself from the heavy warmth of it all, so deeply he couldn’t figure out what was actually happening on the TV, which only made it harder to divert his attention away from the magic happening on his skin.

“You okay?”  Hawke relented after what felt like hours, rubbing the palm of his hand into the small of his back.  Fenris started to sit up, stumbling a little; his back felt so loose, it was like he had no muscles at all.  Hawke laughed, this time pitifully, helping him up so that he didn’t sit on his wounded leg.  “Maker, are you alright?  Did you fall asleep?”

Fenris’ cheeks were incredibly red; he could only collapse against the back of the couch and cough a little, trying to cover his face.  “I’m… fine.”

“Are you… blushing?”  Hawke grinned, leaning in and kissing his shoulder.  “Was it that good?”

“I need a break.”  Fenris clumsily stood, quickly limping out to the balcony.  Hawke could only chuckle, crossing his arms in satisfaction.

 

'Cause looking for heaven, found the devil in me

Looking for heaven, found the devil in me

Well, what the hell

I'm gonna let it happen to me

 

They had been watching TV again, this time a romantic comedy about a mage and a templar. Of course, neither of them were even remotely interested in the plot of the movie, so they talked instead.  Hawke’s lips were pressing against the point in his ear as he whispered, speaking quietly about his day at work, and Fenris couldn’t help but to shiver at the feeling of his breath on his ear.  But he idly listened, more so focused on the feeling of Hawke’s thick, muscled arm tightening around his waist.

“Don’t make fun of me,” Hawke started; Fenris could hear the smile in his voice, “but I couldn’t stop thinking about you at work today.”

“Getting sentimental now?”

“I said _don’t_ make fun of me,” Hawke chuckled a little, leaning in and placing a firm kiss to his neck.  “It’s hard not to think about you.”

“What about in particular?”  Fenris closed his eyes, unable to help himself from grinning at the attention.

“Your hair, for starters.”  Hawke reached up to brush his hair from his face, behind his ear, before kissing the part of his neck it was hiding.  “It’s getting so long.  I like it longer; perhaps I should braid it.  Put it in a bun.  You would look good in a man bun.”

Fenris laughed wholeheartedly, the first time Hawke had heard him laugh like that.  He smiled widely at that.  “I was considering cutting it.”

“Please don’t.”  Hawke ran his fingers through the length of his hair; the white hair had just barely grown to reach his shoulders.

Fenris shook his head with a small smile.  “You said ‘for starters.’ What else were you thinking about?”

“Your eyes.”  Hawke grew close, kissing his forehead.  “They’ve gotten so bright since… Well, since we met.  They sparkle.  Like you’ve found yourself.”

Fenris didn’t know what to say, just looking down, his cheeks warming a tad.

“That’s not all.”  Hawke pulled him fully into his lap to his surprise, his legs hanging off the side of the couch.  “You know what else I was thinking about?”

“What?”

“Your legs.”  Fenris scoffed a little, covering his face with a chuckle.  “They’re so fucking long.”

“I’m an elf; what did you expect?”

“They’re like ten feet long. Yet somehow I’m still taller than you.” Hawke ran his hands down Fenris’ thighs, emitting a soft sigh from the elf.  “What else was I thinking about?  Oh, right.  Your hands.  Let me see your hands.”  Hawke took his hands, starting to kiss each finger on each hand, before Fenris unreservedly laughed, pulling one of them away.  He kept kissing at the other, even as Fenris tried to escape his grasp.  “I love these fingers.  These are the best fingers.”

“For the love of the Maker, Hawke,” Fenris snickered, his face plenty red enough now.  He managed to pull his hand away, only to have Hawke pull him into a laugh-infested kiss.  Fenris, although he wouldn’t admit it, enthusiastically wrapped his arms around the other, kissing him deeply.

His hands trailed down Fenris’ frame as they kissed, sliding into his back jean pockets, almost as an excuse to run his fingers over his ass.  Fenris’ legs hooked around Hawke’s waist, finding himself grabbing onto Hawke’s beard to pull his face closer to his own, emitting a groan from the human.  “Easy on the facial hair,” Hawke mumbled against his lips before sliding his hands out of his pockets, focusing them instead on sliding up Fenris’ shirt.  Out of nowhere, there was tongue, and Fenris’ fingers were locked in Hawke’s hair, and Hawke’s body was pressed so tightly against the elf’s, and—

“Get up,” Hawke suddenly grunted.

“What?” Fenris panted, and Hawke decided to pick him up, Fenris holding on for dear life to the big brute.  “Where are we—”

“Bedroom.”

 

And it's hard to dance with a devil on your back

So shake him off


	3. All Around Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris has spent his entire life in discomfort and suffering; it’s all he’s ever known. Now that he’s free, he doesn’t know what to do with himself, especially now that he’s found someone who is determined to give him more love than he’s received in his entire life. Smut at the end of the chapter. Based off the song All Around Me by Flyleaf.

My hands are searching for you

My arms are outstretched towards you

 

Hawke’s kisses felt like flames licking across his skin, dancing too close yet not close enough.  Fenris’ fingers held onto the headboard for dear life as Hawke’s lips kissed a path down his neck to his chest.  Hawke followed his lyrium markings with his mouth, which only made him feel infinitely more sensitive.

Fenris was in a daze; he felt like he was having hot flashes.  He had never been touched in this manner before, and it was difficult to determine whether the heat in the pit of his stomach was from discomfort or absolute pleasure.  He bit his lip to stifle a small noise in his throat as Hawke just barely sunk his teeth into the line drawn down the center of his stomach.  Every move he made absolutely drove him mad, and forced him deeper down the rabbit hole the faster he went.

Hawke’s eyes met his, staring deeply into the elf’s, and Fenris quickly forced his eyes shut, trying to will his face back to its normal color.  He felt hot enough to burst into flames at any moment.  Was this normal?

Planting a gentle kiss to his navel, Fenris realized he wasn’t stopping anytime soon as he scooted further down, spreading Fenris’ legs apart.  He stiffened out of fear when Hawke cupped his groin through his jeans, jumping up and hitting his head on the mantle.  He groaned in pain, covering his face in embarrassment.

Hawke poorly hid a chuckle, climbing back over him.  “Too fast?”

“I…”  Fenris took a deep breath, looking away. “No.  I apologize, it was… very sudden.”

“We can slow down.” Hawke sat next to him, wrapping an arm around him.  It felt very patronizing to Fenris, who just rolled his eyes, rubbing his head where it was hit.  “I’m being serious.  We’ve got all the time in the world.”

Fenris thought for a moment, swallowing hard.  “Perhaps we can… leave it for another night.”

“That’s perfectly fine.”  Hawke pecked his forehead.  “We can just go to bed.”  He reached past him, pulling at the cord on their nightstand lamp to turn it off.  Hawke rested his head on the pillow, pulling Fenris into his arms before closing his eyes.

Fenris tried to sink into his arms, tried to relax, but he couldn’t.  He laid there, wide awake, wondering whether he was selfish for not being ready.

 

I feel you on my fingertips

My tongue dances behind my lips for you

 

Cleaning Mrs. Vadnais’ apartment, the next day, Fenris took a small break to talk to the old woman outside.  She was a small, hunched-over old human hag with a chain smoker’s voice, dressed in the ugliest floral print robe with old, stained bunny slippers on her feet. He lit her cigarette for her, leaning against the railing as she talked.

“You’ve been living with that bearded fellow for a while now,” she remarked, her voice as hoarse and gritty as she coughed.  “What’s his name? Wren?”

“Close.  Hawke.”  Fenris took a puff of his cigarette.  “And yes, it’s been… two and a half years now.”

“He’s rather handsome,” she said with a snicker, elbowing him gently.  “What does he do for a living?”

“He’s a merchant,” Fenris replied flatly, though that was certainly not the entirety of it.  She didn’t need to know that he was a professional duelist, however.  “Sells a friend’s armor for a piece of the cut.”

“I thought he was a laborer.”  She coughed, hacking loudly into her elbow.  “He’s certainly… robust enough, if you get what I mean.”

Fenris rolled his eyes with a smile.  “He gets his exercise.”

“I bet he does.”  She took a deep breath before coughing again, this time louder.  Once she settled down, she gave him a knowing look.  “How does a young elf like yourself get in with a man like that, eh?  He’s smitten with you, y’know.”

Fenris grimaced a little, hiding it behind his cigarette as he took another puff.  She asked him that every single time they talked.  “With all due respect, Mrs. Vadnais, I’d rather not get into this again.”

“I’m just teasing you,” she chuckled, crossing her arms.  “He really is, though.  I can see it on his face from a thousand miles away; that smile he gets when he talks about you is really something.”  She sniffled.  “You get the same look on your face when you talk about him, too.”

Fenris shook his head, not amused.  “Mrs. Vadnais—”

“Come on, Fenny.  It’s less obvious with you, but you get this sparkle in your eye.  You’re enamored.”

“That’s enough,” Fenris uncomfortably laughed, putting out his cigarette on the ground with his shoe.  “I ought to finish washing your dishes.”

She shook her head with a grin as he walked back inside, making a beeline towards the kitchen sink.

 _Enamored._   She said he was _enamored_ with Hawke.  How ridiculous.  He shook it off, trying not to think about it too much.

Eventually, his mind went to Hawke.  Maybe he’d try to make dinner tonight; he needed something a little less Fereldan in his stomach tonight, something with a little more spice.  Alright, a lot more spice.  Hawke made delicious food, to be sure, but it was always meat pies, mashed potatoes, comfort food with little more than salt as seasoning, food that made him feel eighty pounds bigger by the time he finished his plate.  He needed something to awaken his palate again.  His fingers were already starting to wrinkle from the soapy water.  He smiled as he thought of the last time he cooked; Hawke had to drink half a gallon of milk to cool his mouth down.  He was so Fereldan.

 _My Fereldan._   The thought appeared out of nowhere, so sudden that he barely noticed it.  But when he realized he’d thought it, he blinked, thinking it again. 

_My Fereldan. Mine._

He froze, his hands stopping their scrubbing on the current cooking pan. 

Oh, Maker.  He _was_ enamored.

 

This fire rising through my being

Burning, I'm not used to seeing you

 

They both could feel the wine already going to their heads as Hawke poured them both another glass.  They stood in the kitchen, tossing jokes and stories back and forth as they sipped idly at their glasses.  Fenris’ lips felt looser than they’d ever been, laughs escaping his throat every minute.  It felt unfamiliar, but in a good way, like it was an uncertain adventure.

Hawke was telling some inane story about a nobleman at his stall who demanded drakeskin armor, despite the rarity of drakeskin scales.  Fenris was barely paying attention, just nodding whenever he paused; he was more attentive to the way Hawke’s beard flattered his rigid jaw, the thickness of his forearms, how incredibly and pleasantly deep his voice was.  Mrs. Vadnais was right; he looked like he should have been a warrior, a laborer, even a construction worker, because his muscles were just so _thick_.  Most rogues he knew were thin, spindly… He guessed he didn’t have a whole lot of room to talk, being a lean-muscled warrior himself.  But it was unreal how big the man was.

 _How big **his** man was_.  The thought popped into his head again, and he blinked it away, scowling.  Hawke gave him a strange look.  “You alright?”

Fenris almost forgot to respond.  He shook his head, giving him a small smile.  “Yes, I apologize.  The, ah… It’s the wine.  Getting to my head already.  I’m… having a hard time paying attention.”

“I didn’t realize you were a lightweight,” Hawke teased.

Fenris rolled his eyes.  “I’m not.  I’ve drank more than you have.”

“Bullshit, I’ve had two glasses.”

“I’ve had three.”

“What?” Hawke laughed.  “When did you have another glass?”

“I was having a glass when you got home.”  Fenris crossed his arms, a small grin overtaking his mouth.  “‘Lightweight.’  _Please_.”

Hawke smiled behind his glass as he took another drink, and Fenris couldn’t help but to smile back, watching him.  One wouldn’t notice it just by looking at him briefly, but Hawke had a faintly rosy face underneath all the facial hair; his cheekbones were the only place you could see the redness clearly.  While he was generally a cool, collected person, it didn’t take much to get him flustered.  Fenris’ favorite part about it was the way it made the color of his eyes pop out.

Hawke reached up to run his fingers through his hair.  Maker, his hands were huge.  He remembered noticing that before they knew each other so… intimately.  Each finger had to be twice the size of his own fingers, they were so thick.  He slid that hand into his pocket as he took another drink, and Fenris noted, with a soft, flustered look, that he filled out his jeans quite well. 

Andraste, what was wrong with him?  Why couldn’t he look away?  Why was he so completely captured by the human standing before him?

Unlucky for him, Hawke realized Fenris was staring.  He grinned.  “What? Something in my teeth?”

Fenris suddenly looked away, taking a large gulp of his wine to distract away from the fact that he’d definitely been staring.  He’d barely any wine left.  “Ah, nothing.  Just…”

“Just?”

“Just… Maker, I need to lie down.”  Fenris downed the rest of his glass, setting it down and starting to walk past him.

Hawke took his arm before he could leave.  “Did I say something wrong?”  He sounded worried. 

Ugh, the man was so sweet and kind and concerned for his well-being.  What did he do to deserve this?  Fenris couldn’t reply, just shook his head.

“Are you just not feeling well?”  Hawke reached up, pressing his hand against Fenris’ forehead.  “You feel a little hot.  Maybe it’s just the wine, but—”

Hawke found his mouth suddenly occupied, taken up by another pair of lips that seemed to just appear out of thin air.  He found himself getting pushed hard against the counter, his hands pinned against the countertop, and he blinked, tasting the same wine he’d been drinking.

Fenris kissed him forcefully, deeply, like he’d just found out the world was going to end tomorrow.  His hands held Hawke’s wrists in place on the countertop briefly, until he sunk into the kiss, trailing them up his arms, pulling him by his shoulders as close as he possibly could get.  Hawke wrapped his arms around him tightly, and Fenris settled for resting his hands on Hawke’s hips as he felt himself get swallowed up in the other’s heat.  He tasted like fine wine.

They stayed like that for what felt like forever, swaying as they kissed, until Hawke pulled away, almost losing his balance.  He swallowed, breathing heavily, still holding tightly onto the other, and he laughed softly.  “You… You could’ve just asked.”

Fenris chuckled a little, trying to catch his breath.  “May I kiss you again?”

“Only if you do it like you just did.”

 

I can feel you all around me

Thickening the air I'm breathing

Holding on to what I'm feeling

Savoring this heart that's healing

 

Everything was going fine.  They’d been kissing since Hawke got home, their arms wrapped around one another tightly, moving from one wall to the next as they tried to make their way to the bedroom.

Everything was fine.  Perfect, even.  Until the moment Hawke pinned him down against the mattress.

His heart started to race, and he started to shake.  Even the feeling of Hawke’s hands clasped in his own, the sensation of his lips on his neck, didn’t calm him down; none of it did.  He pulled at his hands to try and free them; he could feel his breath quicken, and his chest began to hurt.  Hawke still didn’t relent, forcing a knee between his legs and tightening his grip on his hands.

He looked up at him with fearful, childishly wide eyes, and suddenly it wasn’t Hawke anymore.

It was Danarius.

“Hawke!”

And abruptly he woke, registering the feeling of Hawke’s arms around his waist.  He jumped up, grabbing his chest as if to try and physically slow his heart.  He was absolutely soaked in cold sweat.  He’d shouted so loudly that he woke himself up.

Hawke was beside him already, having been woken up by the yelling of his name.  His voice was groggy.  “Fen?  Are you… What’s going on?”

His throat was dry as a cotton ball.  He swallowed hard, trying to wet it enough so he could respond.  All he could get out was a hoarse, “Sorry.”

Hawke rubbed his eyes with one hand, keeping the other wrapped around his waist.  He leaned in, kissing his shoulder.  “Don’t be… What was it?  Bad dream?”

“Something like that…”  Fenris pulled away, stumbling off the bed onto his feet.  He tried to keep his balance, but he felt his legs give out from under him, and he fell to his knees with a soft groan.  “Shit.”

“Fenris,” Hawke sighed, getting out of bed and helping him up.  His eyes widened; Fenris was as cold as ice.  “Maker, are you alright?  You’re freezing.”

“No, I’m burning up,” Fenris quietly snapped, squeezing his eyes shut.  “I… need some air.”

“I’ll open a window, but your skin’s colder than the Frostbacks.”  Fenris gave up, letting him sit him up on the bed.  “You’d better not be getting sick on me.”

Fenris felt like he could hurl, but he swallowed as hard as he could, holding his stomach.  He was still nauseous from the nightmare.  “I’m fine.  I just… need a minute.”

“Alright.  Are you going to throw up?  Should I get the trash can?”

Fenris covered his mouth suddenly, clenching his eyes closed tightly.  A muffled “yes” came out, and Hawke ran to get the trash can.

After an hour of puking up nothing but wine and stomach acid, he felt that his stomach had come back under his control and could finally breathe.  His head was pounding horribly; it felt like someone knocked him out with a hammer.  It took him a moment to realize Hawke had been by his side the entire time, rubbing his back, holding his hair back.  He’d even taken his shirt off for him at some point, which he saw, balled up on the floor, stained with sweat.  He heard a soft chuckle, and looked up, Hawke staring at him with a sad smile.

“That certainly wasn’t fun.”  Hawke leaned in, gently pulling the rest of his hair back, grabbing a wet washcloth he’d taken from the bathroom earlier to wrap around the back of his neck, wiping his forehead and mouth first before placing it behind his throat.

Fenris wasn’t surprised at how scratchy his voice was.  It was like he’d become a chain smoker overnight.  “Not fun at all,” he hoarsely replied, letting out a sigh at the refreshing cold on his neck.  Hawke pressed his hand against his forehead to check its temperature, but Fenris pushed his hand away.  “Stop.  I am… fine now.”

“Like hell you’re fine.  You just hurled for an hour straight.”  Hawke rubbed his back, looking him over.  “You’re ashy.  And the bags under your eyes have bags underneath them.  You can be your normal, cynical self when I’m done, but I’m worried, so I’m going to baby you.  Get pissed with me later, when you’re feeling better and I’ve no more reason to feel worried.”

Fenris didn’t know what to say.  He couldn’t get upset; Hawke was just trying to take care of him.  He wasn’t used to being taken care of like this.  So he sighed, reaching up to move the washcloth on his neck to his chest.  “Is that…what mothers are supposed to be like?”

Hawke gave a relieved smile, shaking his head as he folded Fenris’ bangs behind his pointed ear.  “Don’t push it.”

“Genuine question.  I was not…trying to insult you,” Fenris weakly chuckled.  “Even if you were being a bit of a bitch.”

“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that.” Hawke crossed his arms, still looking him over.  “Mothers are supposed to be… kind.  Not so kind that you get entitled to everything, but kind enough that you know what love is.”  Hawke reached out, wiping the sweat from Fenris’ forehead with his sleeve.  He trailed his hand down past his temple, down to his jaw, cupping his cheek idly.  “What it’s like to feel… loved.”  Hawke held on for a moment longer, before taking a quick breath, pulling away and crossing his arms.  “Ah… My mom was a little too kind to me.  I was a brat when I was younger.  Got into all kinds of trouble.” He chuckled, rubbing his own neck awkwardly.  “Still am, I guess.”

Fenris watched his hands as he pulled them away from his face.  He smelled like he always did; elfroot, and wet metal.  It was an odd aroma, but one he’d gotten used to and even sometimes expected everywhere.  He was still, however, reeling at the way he’d touched him, the way he said the word _love_ , like it was more than a feeling, like it was this intense craving one had for another. He blinked, reaching up to rub his eyes.  “I…had a mother, before Danarius… I’ve no real memory of her, however.  I feel as though I’ve missed out on some important life experiences without parents.  Everyone talks about their parents so fondly.”

“I think you turned out alright,” Hawke replied.  He looked down for a moment, trying to think of what to say.  “I mean, I’d be mad to not have wanted a better life for you.  Anyone would.  But… you’re who you are.  And who you are is pretty amazing, if I do say so myself.”

Fenris shook his head, a dumb, flattered grin plastered on his face.  He tried to hide it with his hand, but Hawke had already seen it.  “That’s enough.  You’re going to make me throw up again from all this flattery.”

Hawke laughed.  “Never hurts to try and win some brownie points with you.”

 

My hands float up above me

And you whisper you love me

And I begin to fade

Into our secret place

 

“I want to take you out somewhere nice,” Hawke had said. 

“It’ll be fun,” he said. 

“You’ll look good dressed up,” he said.

He felt like he was packed into a damned sardine can.

The closest thing to formal wear he’d ever worn was the ceremonial armor Danarius forced him to wear while he served his guests.  Nothing like a suit and tie had ever found its way into his wardrobe.

They went the day before to a tailor, who had properly sized Fenris for the first time.  Hawke tried to convince him to get a tacky red suit that “brought out his eyes,” but he very firmly vetoed it.  They settled with a dark blue jacket that came with a black shirt underneath and black dress pants; Fenris refused to wear a tie.  He felt like he was being choked whenever he wore a tie.

Of course, Hawke refused to allow Fenris to see his own suit.  That was supposed to be a _surprise_.

As he finished getting dressed, he looked in the mirror.  Something didn’t look quite right.  He ruffled his hair, fixed the collar of his jacket, unbuttoned and rebuttoned the dress shirt.  He couldn’t figure out what it was.  Despite that, he liked the way the markings on his neck peeked out past the wide collar of the shirt. So he sighed, walking out into the living room, waiting for Hawke to finish up in his bathroom.

When he came out, he could only stare, dumbfounded.

Hawke had on a classic, black and white tuxedo, but it wasn’t the tux that made Fenris’ jaw drop to the floor.  It was the way he looked _in_ the tuxedo.  He had cleaned up his beard and mustache, and his hair was slicked forward, spiking up in all the right places.  His muscles were so big, it looked like he was going to pop right out of the tux, but he moved limberly and freely regardless.  His dress shoes were polished and shone like stars.  He was professional and handsome from head to toe; he looked like he was running for viscount of Kirkwall, and Fenris was already one hundred percent sure he would vote for him.

Hawke stepped in front of him, grinning a little at his reaction, reaching down to unbutton Fenris’ jacket.  Fenris stepped back, a little dazed and definitely confused.  “What—What are you doing?”

“You’ve got your jacket inside out.” 

Fenris’ cheeks flamed red, and he sighed, taking it off.  “Damn it. I knew it didn’t look right.  I’ve…never done anything like this before.  I feel like I’m dressed in a corset, this thing is so tight.”  He pulled the sleeves out the right way this time, starting to button them up correctly, but Hawke pushed his hands away, taking over.

“It’s not tight,” Hawke laughed.  “Suits are supposed to be stiffer; you’re not supposed to do anything but eat and dance in them.”

Fenris blinked.  “Dancing?  You’ve got to be joking.  I do not dance.”

“We probably won’t dance,” Hawke smirked, finishing buttoning his jacket.  “Probably.  Now come on, we’re late for our reservations.”

“Where are we even going?” Fenris asked, but Hawke took his arm, pulling him along out the door.

They drove down to a small but fancy looking Antivan restaurant a few blocks away from the apartment.  Hawke was going all out; he opened his car door for Fenris, hooked his arm around Fenris’ arm… Fenris had to protest when Hawke tried to put his tux jacket over a puddle for him to step on.  He was being absolutely ridiculous, yet somehow Fenris honestly enjoyed the attention.

“Hawke, for two,” Hawke told the maître d’, a tall, elven man who seemed surprised that another elf was actually coming to the restaurant to eat, but didn’t say anything. Fenris just rolled his eyes, and the man showed them to their table, a small, secluded, circular booth in the corner of the restaurant.  Hawke was a bit upset, assuming that they had placed them there to “keep the elf from view,” but Fenris quickly calmed him down, saying that he’d rather not be in the public view for now.  He was annoyed, too, but there was nothing to be gained from making a scene in such a human-centric environment.

They sat as close to each other as they could.  They looked like a couple from a school dance, joking with each other as they ate, getting close enough to make other tables uncomfortable.

The food was excellent; Fenris didn’t remember the last time he’d eaten such rich, delicious pasta.  He knew it was just the right amount of spice, because when Hawke tried it, his entire face went beet red, and he downed the rest of his drink within seconds, Fenris laughing at him the entire time.

One thing he enjoyed, in particular, was the way Hawke played with his hand on top of the table, even after they finished eating, even when the waiter came over to refill their drinks, even when the restaurant was beginning to empty out and the busboy had come to clean their table.

By the time they left the restaurant, it was eleven in the evening, and they were both a little tipsy from the wine, so they decided to walk over to the nearby park to wait out the alcohol in their blood.  (Hawke never said it was a good plan.)

They walked around, Fenris’ hand clasped in Hawke’s.  It was quiet, peaceful, even in this part of the city.  Hawke looked around, smiling; he knew there would be no interruptions.

“Don’t get me wrong,” Fenris started, glancing down at their hands held together with a soft smile.  “This was… very nice.  I don’t think I’ve ever been in a restaurant like that before without keeping my guard up.”  The smile faded, though.  “But…it had to be more than just ‘let’s go out on a fancy date.’  I know you, Hawke.  Why all the pomp and circumstance?”

Hawke laughed, the lovely sound echoing off the statues in the park.  “You always see right through me.”  Hawke stopped, letting go of his hand, pulling something out of his pocket.  “This might be rushing things.  I still don’t know whether to do it or not, but I thought…  Well, we’ve known each other for more than two years, right?”

Fenris crossed his arms, looking less confused and terrified than he really was.  Was he proposing?  Shit.  He hadn’t even thought of that until now.  It was like Hawke to do something like this out of the blue.  He hadn’t known Fenris for more than half a year before he asked him to move in with him.  How the hell was he supposed to react?  “What exactly are you trying to pull, here?”

Hawke grinned, suddenly getting on one knee.  His cheeks were red, definitely from both the wine in his system and from putting himself on the spot.  Fenris’ heartrate jumped up to a million miles an hour; _fuck._

“I’m not proposing marriage, so calm down,” Hawke prefaced, opening his hand.  Inside, there was a red, velveteen handkerchief.  “But…”  Unwrapping the handkerchief, he revealed…

Nothing.

Hawke’s eyes widened, and he quickly searched in his pockets.  “Fuck.  Where is it?”

Fenris stood there, a little relieved, but also a little disappointed for some odd reason.  “Where is _what_?”

“I…  The ring, there was supposed to be a ring, and it’s not here, and…” He suddenly hit himself on the forehead.  “I left it on the nightstand.  Shit.  Of _course_ I left it on the nightstand.”

“What…”  Fenris shook his head. “If you’re not proposing, why is there a ring?”

“It was going to be really romantic,” Hawke muttered, getting off his knee, rubbing his neck awkwardly.  “It was a promise ring.  I was going to say…”  Hawke shook his head, waving off the rest of his sentence.  “It doesn’t matter. I screwed it up.  Damn it.”

Fenris hesitated, but he reached out, taking the handkerchief and tying its length around his wrist.  Hawke gave him a confused look, but Fenris cupped his cheek, thinking for a moment before speaking. “Pretend that is the ring.  What were you going to say?”

“I…”  Hawke shook his head, getting back on one knee, taking Fenris’ hand that had the handkerchief wrapped around it.  “I had this whole speech prepared, about how these last few years have been the best of my life, yadda-yadda-yadda, but every time I look at you, I forget every word of it, except just one part.”  Hawke entwined their fingers together, smiling widely.  “It’s been a long time since I’ve been able to open my heart to someone so openly, to wake up next to someone who felt like home to me.  The ring… It was supposed to be my way of saying ‘I love you,’ Fenris.  With all my heart.”

Fenris’ hand tightened around Hawke’s, and he let it sink in for a moment, before giving a soft smile, pulling Hawke up off his knee and into a tight embrace.  Hawke held onto him tightly, kissing the top of his head.

“And I…mean it, Fenris.  I love you.”

Fenris faltered, holding onto him closely before mumbling back, “I love you, too.”

 

The music makes me sway

The angels singing say we are alone with you

I am alone and they are too with you

 

As soon as Hawke unlocked the door to the apartment, they could barely keep their hands off one another.  Fenris latched onto him immediately, wrapping his arms around his neck and kissing him deeply.  Bumping into every piece of furniture and wall on their way to the bedroom, they had their fair share of hip and back bruises, but neither cared.

Once they reached the bedroom, Hawke pulled away, putting a finger to Fenris’ lips before grabbing something from the nightstand. 

The ring.  Of course.  Fenris chuckled, shaking his head as Hawke took his hand, sliding the ring on.  It was a bit tight, but he didn’t care.  He was paying more attention to the way Hawke was kissing his hand, then trailing kisses up his arm, until he reached his neck, pulling back his suit jacket to nibble gently on his collarbone. 

“That’s enough.”  Fenris reached out, grabbing him by his collar and beginning to unbutton the shirt for him.  Hawke slid his arms out of the tuxedo jacket, stepping closer to kiss Fenris again as he finished unbuttoning his shirt.  Fenris’ hands slid up his chest once he finished, wrapping his arms around his waist.

“You looked so good tonight,” Hawke mumbled against his lips.  “I knew you cleaned up well.”

“It probably will not happen again, so soak it in while you can,” Fenris chuckled, letting the other slip Fenris’ jacket off.  “I’ve never been one to dress up.”

“I’ll convince you to wear it again eventually.”  Hawke started to unbutton his shirt, biting softly at his neck.  “It’s sexy.”

“You think everything is sexy.” He slipped his arms out of the sleeves, letting the shirt drop to the floor.  “If I were a nug, you would find nugs sexy.”

Hawke grinned, cupping his cheeks. “Everything about you _is_ sexy.”  Fenris rolled his eyes, but Hawke leaned in, kissing him again.  “ _Everything_ about you is sexy.  You’re just an incredibly sexy man.” 

Fenris couldn’t help but to shiver at the way he kept saying the word _sexy_ , like he’d found the embodiment of the word. “You are wearing out the meaning of the word.” 

Hawke laughed. “I’m just using it correctly.  Would you rather I used another word?”  Hawke pressed his face into Fenris’ neck, kissing a path across his throat.  “Sensual?  No, that’s not strong enough for you.”  Fenris chuckled, his face reddening a bit at the treatment.  Hawke continued kissing along his left shoulder.  “Stimulating?  That sounds so… sterile, like in a healer’s office.”  He brought his kisses back up his neck, landing the last one upon his lips.  “Erotic?” Fenris took in a sharp breath at that, and Hawke grinned.  “Hmm… I think I like that.”  Hawke started to push him towards the bed, pecking his lips with every step.  “ _Erotic_ ,” he murmured.  “What do you think of that?”

Maker, if Fenris hadn’t been hot under the collar before, he certainly was now.  The way Hawke kept touching him, kissing him, nipping at him, using all these different words to nick and tease at him… He let himself fall onto the bed, onto his back, Hawke climbing on top of him.

“Tantalizing,” Hawke continued, slinking his arms around the elf’s waist, his knee finding its way between his legs.  “Seductive. Desirable. Passionate.” Hawke leaned in, pressing his forehead against Fenris’, realizing exactly how warm the other was.  He grinned.  “ _Hot_.”

“Running out of synonyms?” Fenris breathed, absolutely hooked on the feeling of Hawke’s bare skin pushed against his own.  He could feel _something_ pressing against his thigh, but he waited patiently, even if Hawke didn’t deserve his patience with how he was teasing him now.

“I can keep them coming, if you’d like,” Hawke mumbled, his voice delightfully low.  “I’ll talk your pointed ears off if that’s what you’re into.”

Fenris gave a little chuckle, running his fingers through the other’s hair, gently gripping onto it.  “All bark and no bite.”

Hawke laughed, the sound ringing in Fenris’ ears.  “I’ll give you ‘bite,’ if that’s what you want.”

“Give it to me, then.”

Goosebumps rose on Hawke’s skin at that, and he kissed him suddenly and deeply, pulling him as close as he could get him.  Fenris tightened his fingers in his hair, groaning as he felt Hawke’s hands trail down his hips, reaching down to unbutton his dress pants.

Normally, at this point, Fenris would have begun to panic, pulling away and sputtering something about how he needed air.  But there was something about that entire night leading up to this moment that managed to kill off that inner anxiety.  Maybe he finally trusted Hawke fully.  He didn’t know, but he did know that he was in a world of pleasure regardless.

Hawke suddenly pulled away from his lips, instead kneeling between his legs on the floor.  Fenris gave a dazed, confused look, until he saw the look on Hawke’s face, staring at his hand on Fenris’ groin, a growing bulge appearing there.  Fenris’ face reddened entirely out of desire as Hawke palmed the tent in his pants with a soft grin.  It seemed he was waiting for a sign of approval.

Fenris nodded faintly, and Hawke slid his hand underneath the waistband of his boxers.

 

I’m alive

I’m alive

 

Hawke’s kisses felt delectable on his skin; it was always the best way to wake up.  Hawke’s arms were tighter around his waist, squeezing him not unpleasantly, like a teddy bear.

But something felt different; he couldn’t quite place it.  Then he felt his body start to ache, and the lack of clothing around his lower half, and he remembered exactly what they did the night before.

And he smiled.  A wide, happy, uncharacteristic smile lit up his entire face, and he couldn’t help but to laugh, covering his mouth.

“What are you laughing about?”  Hawke’s voice was groggy, but it enjoyably vibrated against his neck, and his smile grew bigger.

“Nothing.” 

Hawke bit his neck, forcing a grunt from Fenris’ throat.  Fenris could feel him smile against his neck.  “I can’t stop thinking about last night.  I think I have scratches all over my back.”

“Sorry.”

“I wasn’t complaining.” Hawke shifted, sitting up next to him.  “I never thought I’d be thanking you for mauling me.”  He grinned, pulling him into his arms.  “But here we are.  Thanks for giving me more bite marks on my neck than I have skin.”

Fenris sighed a bit, letting himself fall against Hawke’s body, leaning his head back so he could meet the other’s eyes.  “I’ve never been particularly gentle.”

“Evidently.”  He slid his hands down the elf’s sides, kissing his neck.  “But that’s okay.  I’ll just wear a turtleneck tomorrow.”

“You look good in turtlenecks,” Fenris murmured, tilting his head so the human would have better access to his neck.  It felt like he was baring his throat for a predator; it seemed liberating, trusting someone so much to do so.  “But I’m not the only one who was rough last night.  I’ve a few bruises in the shape of _fingers_ on my hips.”

“You kept pulling my hair,” Hawke groaned, burying his face in the other’s neck.  “I enjoyed it, sure, but I had to get you back somehow.”

Fenris laughed a reserved laugh.  “You’re insufferable.”

“And you’re sexy.”  Hawke hummed quietly, placing a trail of kisses down his shoulder.  “Want to do it again?”

Fenris rolled his eyes, pulling away from Hawke’s grip on his hips, swinging his legs over the side of the bed.  “I would prefer eggs and bacon.  Breakfast doesn’t ask me to call it ‘Big Daddy’ in bed.”  He stood, stretching his arms above his head.

“It was a joke!”  Hawke laughed, following him, slipping his arms around his waist and placing a firm smooch to the top of his head.  “Fine.  I’ll make you breakfast.”

“Use more than salt this time.”

“You _wound_ me.”

 

Take my hand

I give it to you

Now you own me

All I am

 

They sat across from one another at the table, silently stuffing their faces with food.

Hawke was scrolling through Facebook on his phone; Hawke’s foot, per usual, was idly sliding up and down Fenris’ leg, not necessarily because he was trying to seduce him but because he was hyperactive, couldn’t sit still.  Fenris smiled, only a bit, before going back to shoving eggs in his mouth.

He was starving.  Normally, he didn’t eat this much.  No, normally he didn’t eat this much _in front_ _of Hawke_.  He was abnormally thin for his age, after years and years of being denied meals, often for weeks at a time.  And when he was finally allowed to eat, he often threw it back up because he ate it so quickly, or one of the magister’s apprentices had poisoned it because they were bored.  It was only in the past year that he started gaining weight again.  His muscles were developing normally, finally, and he had started to look almost too swollen for an elf.

When he wasn’t eating, for lack of better phrasing, he worked his ass off.  Hawke had gotten him a gym membership, and when he wasn’t working his ass off cleaning Mrs. Vadnais’ apartment, he was working his ass off working out.

And he felt good.  That was the most important thing; he felt healthy for the first time in almost four years.

Fenris didn’t even realize he’d finished everything on his plate already until he went to stab a piece of nug bacon with his fork and the bacon wasn’t there, the fork clanging against the plate instead, startling him.

Hawke jumped a little, then laughed.  “I take it you were hungry?”

“A little.”  Fenris wiped his face with his napkin, setting the fork down on his plate and sitting back.  Hawke’s foot was now comfortably rested against Fenris’ ankle.  “Apologies.”

“For what? Enjoying my food?”  Hawke’s plate still had a few pieces of scrambled eggs and half a piece of toast on it.  “You’re fine, Fenris.  I can make more if you’re still hungry.”

Fenris shook his head, crossing his legs.  “I’m fine.  Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Though curry would have really hit the spot.”

Hawke rolled his eyes, going back to his phone.  “You’re trying to kill me.”

Fenris laughed.  “It would not kill you to try some of my food.”

“It almost did.”  Hawke raised an eyebrow, eyes on his phone’s screen.  “It killed the nerves on my tongue, at least.”

“You’ve a virgin tongue.  Nothing to be ashamed of.”  Fenris crossed his arms, a soft smirk coming across his lips.

“Trust me, there is _nothing_ virgin about my tongue.”  Hawke winked.

Fenris shook his head with a smile.  Hawke’s foot continued rubbing along his leg, and Fenris could only sigh softly, taking a drink of water.

_My Fereldan._

 

You said you would never leave me

I believe you

I believe

 

“I hate to wake you up, Fen,” a groggy voice muffled against his neck said, “but I need you.” Hawke’s voice gave him goosebumps as he kissed along Fenris’ shoulder, soft nicks and bites trailing down the marks on his arm.

Fenris sighed, shifting so that he was facing the other.  Hawke’s arms pulled him into a warm embrace, and Fenris simply laid his head on the other’s shoulder.  “You do all the work.  I am exhausted.”

“Gladly.”  Hawke kissed him deeply, Fenris’ head beginning to spin.  His fingers slid into the other’s hair, letting him climb atop him.

Hawke quickly slid Fenris’ shirt off before taking off his own, his lips attaching to Fenris’ chest almost immediately.  He kissed and bit his way down the elf’s torso, leaving a wet trail that pleasantly cooled in the air.  Fenris didn’t even really realize when Hawke had taken ahold of his arousal; it all felt the same intense pleasure.  Fenris let out a soft, desirable hum as Hawke stroked him, and Hawke let him sling his legs over the man’s shoulders as he started to kiss it.

His lips felt absolutely delectable, sliding along the side of Fenris’ cock.  They came back to the top, wrapping around its top as Hawke played with the head with his tongue.  Fenris let out a groan, and Hawke mimicked it, feeling it twitch in his mouth at the vibrations.  Fenris could feel himself tensing up from the pleasure, his hips moving on their own volition, and Hawke pinned them down, pulling up for air.

“Relax,” Hawke breathed.  “Lie back and relax.  Let me make you cum.”

Fenris unclenched his hands from the sheets, lying his head back to hide how red his face had gotten, and took a deep breath, letting his eyes roll into the back of his head.  Hawke went back to work, seeming to derive pleasure out of pleasing Fenris.

“Hawke?”  Fenris murmured after a few minutes of inescapable bliss, and Hawke let go of him, climbing on top of him to kiss his lips.

“Yeah, love?” Hawke whispered, pressing against him.  He took both their arousals in his hand, gently stroking them together in time.

“Don’t leave me.”  Fenris pleasingly took a kiss from Hawke, wrapping his arms around the human’s neck.

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”  Hawke kissed his jaw, starting to suck nicely on his neck.  Fenris’ eyes closed, savoring the pleasure.

“I am yours.”  Fenris just couldn’t keep his mouth shut.  “I—ah—I am _yours_.”

Hawke chuckled against his neck, pulling back, pressing his forehead against Fenris’.  “Don’t get all sentimental on me.”

Fenris smiled, biting his lip as he bucked up against Hawke’s hand.  “I am—” Another soft groan escaped his lips, and Hawke sped up his ministrations.  “I am being serious. I—mm, listen to me.”

“You’re all I want to listen to,” Hawke mumbled, kissing his lips.

“Now who’s being sentimental?”  Fenris gave a sudden moan, his lips spread in a smile, and he closed his eyes, allowing the other to kiss him.  The room was spinning; he felt so perfectly dizzy, like all that was holding him together was Hawke’s body pressed against him.  “I need you.”

“You have me.”

“I need _all_ of you.”

“You _have_ all of me.”

And suddenly he came undone, letting out a deep groan as he spilled into Hawke’s hand.  Hawke followed soon after, kissing his lips deeply.

 

I can feel you all around me

Thickening the air I'm breathing

Holding on to what I'm feeling

Savoring this heart that's healed


End file.
